Proximity
by spilche
Summary: Tezuka. Fuji remembers; Fuji knows; and Fuji feels. [TezuFuji]


Title: Proximity  
Genre: Angst/Romance (PG)  
Author: scube (frivolity @ forbidden-lover . net)  
Characters: Tezuka x Fuji  
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi.  
Notes: Argh. And this is all because I wanted to write a Fuji fic in time for February 29. Possible spoilers for Episode 73.

Comments would be lovely :)

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Fuji already has a rough idea who would be inside but he just wants to make sure. He turns the doorknob slowly, careful to prevent it from creaking incessantly, and opens the door in one swift motion.

On a bench on the far side of their locker room, sits a motionless Tezuka, his eyes deep in introspection, yet empty at the same time.

"...Tezuka?" Fuji whispers softly and somewhat hesitantly, as if afraid of disrupting the quietude within. The thin breathy sound he just articulated fills the room for a brief moment before finally fading into quietus, and still, nothing stirs.

Fuji blinks. Usual smile in place and footsteps slightly wavering, Fuji takes long, big strides towards Tezuka. Tezuka very nearly flinches, seemingly because he has suddenly become acutely aware of another presence in his space.

"Tezuka..." Fuji repeats, this time more firmly whilst effortlessly retaining that soft and gentle quality to his voice. He lets his voice trail off, not knowing -- perhaps, not quite wanting -- to say any more as he waits for Tezuka to begin.

Tezuka will say what he wants to say and Fuji is always waiting for Tezuka this way, he knows. It isn't that Fuji minds waiting at all. Fuji is rarely impatient and in fact, finds it all the more appealing to believe that something good almost always awaits him if he is patient like this.

Finally, his effort pays off and Tezuka's deep and slightly throaty voice fills his eager ears. Tezuka has not been coming to tennis practices for a while and Fuji suddenly realises that he misses more than anything else, this voice that commands, that caresses, and completes his soul.

"I went to see Ryuuzaki-sensei," Tezuka begins and pauses, and this little preamble strikes a somewhat familiar chord to Fuji because Tezuka is going straight to the point at once like every other time.

"Yes, I know," Fuji replies quietly, his voice unassuming and his smile carefully concealing the burning curiosity to know the contents of their meeting. Fuji is often not sure if Tezuka sees through him but Fuji is not sure if he wants to know either; how scary would it be, if he could be perfectly read like a book from one cover to the other. Somehow he has a faint inkling that this is exactly what happens to him every time he finds himself in the presence of Tezuka. And that is also why he does not want to know for sure, because transparency frightens him sometimes. Yet, he feels this strange ambivalent sense of ease that there is probably nothing more to hide and he could be as true as he wants to be.

Then, Fuji decides to make what he hopes is an intelligent guess at this juncture.

"Is it your shoulder?"

Words they exchange never need to be multitudinous in order to be meaningful, and this is something that Fuji thinks he has learnt from Tezuka. Simplicity is not simplistic and Fuji feels that the former allows them to convey their thoughts just as well.

"Ahh," Tezuka makes a non-committal noise at the back of his throat, seemingly so to avoid answering Fuji's question directly.

"I would need to go for proper treatment before I can play for the team again."

Fuji now casts his piercing blue eyes upon Tezuka's perfectly-sculpted visage. He questions Tezuka thoroughly with his imploring eyes but never manages to find the answers he wants. He waits again -- impatiently, this time -- and anticipates with rare trepidation, what he knows must surely come.

"Fuji," Tezuka pauses long and meaningful, and Fuji thinks distractedly that he loves the way his captain articulates his name. "There is a renowned sports hospital in Germany. I am going there for treatment next week."

Mental preparation is useless as it fails Fuji time and again. This is real and is getting more real by the second. Fuji remains resentfully silent. The rational part of him knows that Tezuka needs this treatment more than anything else; but every other part of him wishes he could refuse to accept what he has just heard.

He gathers his composure and speaks with an audible strain in his voice now, "It... It was the match with Atobe."

Tezuka neither agrees nor disagrees but merely closes his eyes for a moment as he tilts his head slightly backwards. Then he opens his eyes to the world again, stands up slowly and walks towards the big glass windows, where he could clearly see the already empty courts bathed in the orange-red hue of the evening sun.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to have a last match with Echizen."

Second shock of the day and it leaves Fuji feeling weary.

Why... Echizen?

Fuji feels unease and an acute disappointment coursing rapidly through his veins. His head is reeling and he feels hot and somewhat bothered. Fuji struggles inwardly, then rationalises for a few seconds and remembers all the hopes he knows Tezuka has always pinned upon that freshman to eventually become the pillar of Seigaku.

Tezuka doesn't turn back to face Fuji all this while. Instead, almost as if on cue, Tezuka states simply, "I have a message to pass to him."

Fuji's eyes are fixed on Tezuka's broad and masculine shoulders, absently wondering what pain lay within. 

"But, Tezuka... you can't play now. Unless you want to destroy your shoulder forever..." Fuji tries to reason logically, even though he knows for sure that any logic would just be overthrown the next minute because he just never wins.

"I won't," Tezuka says softly. "I'll be playing with my right arm."

"But..." Fuji insists indignantly but he stops because he realises that he is at a loss for words. He looks away wearily and focuses instead at a forgotten tennis ball on the floor. He feels tired and he feels blank.

A pensive silence fills up the gap between them and Fuji sinks into deep contemplation, Tezuka's presence momentarily oblivious to him.

Fuji's mind races back to the day of the match between Tezuka and Atobe during the prefectural tournament. He remembers the match in its entirety, every single detail etched upon his mind to an almost begrudging degree. He remembers vividly the passion that burned beyond Tezuka's wall of ice. He remembers seeing the strain surfacing continually on Tezuka's face even if it was for very brief, albeit transient, moments. He remembers and he knows. He knows how much it hurt and he knows the pain that sears, not because he imagines what it is like but that he feels it because this is Tezuka.

Tezuka. Fuji remembers; Fuji knows; and Fuji feels.

Atobe has no doubt inflicted a gaping wound on Tezuka and Fuji is angry with Atobe for doing that. He cannot believe the extent to which Atobe would actually hurt Tezuka like this. On the other hand, he has to admit that he admires Atobe for his peerless skills and indomitable spirit because he knows that if Atobe hadn't given his best during that match, he would have insulted Tezuka more greatly than ever. He knows that Tezuka would never blame Atobe for what he had done because it was a fair match but he still feels angry nonetheless. 

Angry with fate and angry with the world.

Atobe had hurt Tezuka. Fuji cannot believe how that could have happened. He was helpless and he was useless when Atobe had tried to break Tezuka stroke after stroke. And those intangible markings Atobe has left, they are almost like a claim over Tezuka. But if ever at all, Fuji wants to be the only one to do that. Now, he wants to hurt Tezuka. He wants to change Tezuka's life like this too.

...except that he can never be, will never be, the one, he knows.

And now that Echizen is in the picture too...

Fuji is helplessness and anger intertwined. Tezuka would risk himself for the pure sake of the team, the victory of the team and the pillar of the team. Fuji feels helpless against the sacrifices Tezuka has to put up with whether willingly or not, but he is angry with himself because he thinks he has never impacted Tezuka's life as much as those three. People call him a prodigy because he is remarkable when it comes to tennis but in terms of Tezuka, he is clueless and he is weak and vulnerable. He thinks he is at his wits' end.

"Fuji?" Tezuka is facing him now; his voice halts Fuji's train of thoughts and snaps him back to reality.

"Tezuka, please..." Fuji unreservedly pleads this time even if he knows this is futile, is going to be futile, will be futile, but right now he is more than afraid.

"Fuji, you know I have to." Tezuka's voice is resolute and unforgiving but his eyes visibly soften when he gazes at Fuji.

"...'I know'? Ne Tezuka, did you just say 'I know'...?"

Fuji's seemingly innocuous smile now embodies an element of suppressed threat.

Yes, Fuji knows. Fuji probably knows. Fuji understands exactly why but Fuji just doesn't want to accept the way things are turning out now...

What happens in the next few seconds leaves the both of them slightly confused but apparently somehow or other, Fuji had grabbed Tezuka's collar and shoved him roughly against the wall behind.

Fuji doesn't say anything but he narrows his eyes into long dangerous slits and looks intently into those bemused brown eyes before him. He is shocked at himself for allowing rage to overcome him and for resorting to such lowly physical means when even words fail him so miserably at a time like this. Above all, he is shocked that Tezuka does nothing to retaliate because Fuji knows that he would have if he wanted, and he concludes tentatively that he probably doesn't understand Tezuka after all.

At least, not the Tezuka right now.

Tezuka appears unperturbed but Fuji knows better. He notices a slight crease between Tezuka's brows and a tiny bead of sweat that rolls down Tezuka's temple. It then strikes him suddenly that Tezuka is so close to him now, just so very close, and he can already feel the welcoming warmth from Tezuka's body.

Fuji trembles a little at the thought. He can almost feel Tezuka's undulating pulse with his curled-up fingers pressed against Tezuka's neck.

The moment they share now -- both of them intertwined to the extent of entanglement, engaged in a battle of unyielding stares and locked away in an eternal vacuum -- it is more than golden. Fuji likes this sudden closeness between them but he finds it so cruelly ironic that whilst their physical distance has been reduced to almost nothing, the real chasm between them continues to deepen and widen.

"Ne Tezuka, what am I then...?" He whispers with a lilt of dejection, his breath sweeping lightly across Tezuka's pale cheeks.

Tezuka doesn't answer immediately but instead, appears to ponder at Fuji's question.

Fuji glances away resentfully, a little regretful that he had raised that niggling question so unceremoniously when in reality, it had been at the back of his mind for the longest time. He rests his eyes upon Tezuka's long and slender fingers; Fuji loves his beautiful fingers -- so elegant, so gentle, and so strong they look.

"Fuji, you know it," Tezuka says quietly.

What exactly does he know? Tezuka must stop assuming and throwing those two words at him.

Hours seem to have passed them by and Fuji is now brought to the attention of Tezuka's tantalising, slightly quivering lips. So close, just so close... The wicked longing tugs wistfully at his heart, and he feels his heartbeat quicken wildly but he is simply torn between temptation and trepidation.

Finally, rationality wins his mind over and he releases his grip onto his captain. Immediately, the coldness that surges after he distances himself from Tezuka makes him crave for the warmth that had been close enough to become his.

He gathers his belongings from his locker and walks towards the door soundlessly.

He really didn't know what he had been expecting just now. Whether it was of himself or it was of Tezuka, it didn't matter. The thing is, he just didn't know.

"Fuji..."

Fuji stops abruptly in his track and almost immediately continues to walk again but now he feels Tezuka's calloused fingers around his wrist. Fuji instinctively flinches, half-heartedly hoping to fling those fingers away but they only tighten their grip more than ever before.

No, not like this...

"Let me go, Tezuka. You're hurting me," says Fuji as calmly as possible.

"Look at me first," Tezuka answers simply but Fuji hears the subtle commanding overtones and he knows Tezuka wants to be obeyed now. Right now.

"No," Fuji replies, obstinate, defiant and child-like. He bites his lower lip and frowns. He just can't bring himself to face Tezuka now because exposing himself would just be extremely mortifying, to say the least. He thinks about saving what little dignity he has left.

Tezuka pulls Fuji closer and Fuji is surprised at the amount of strength Tezuka exerts. It makes the little confrontation he put Tezuka through just a moment ago seem terribly trivial.

"Fuji, you know it," Tezuka grits his teeth and repeats it right into Fuji's face and Fuji thinks he never knew this Tezuka. Tezuka is now aggressive, menacing and forceful; Fuji can't help feeling a tingle of excitement, fascination and anticipation. Tezuka doesn't loosen his grip on Fuji and Fuji offhandedly decides that men, even boys, can be scary when their minds are set.

"Then, I'll teach you." Tezuka's voice is almost as low as a growl.

He lowers his head a little and steals Fuji's lips away in one rough motion. Defiance must always be compensated with punishment. Fuji doesn't really know how to react but wonders absently whether Tezuka has actually kissed (other) boys before. Tezuka's long and slippery tongue now brushes past Fuji's undecided lips, past his neat row of teeth and slips right into Fuji's mouth, entangling itself with Fuji's tongue.

Fuji decides that he likes the taste of Tezuka. His chest tightens and he feels an involuntary shiver of pleasure and excitement. He likes this feeling, the familiar warmth of Tezuka's body pressed against his, and he feels sheltered and safe. Nothing else is going to matter anymore, he thinks.

Finally. Now he knows, he believes and he breathes.

Tezuka has won again.


End file.
